


Just Like Starting Over

by Little_Ditty



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: AU, Alternate Universe, F/F
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-05-24
Updated: 2012-05-25
Packaged: 2017-11-05 22:48:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,075
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/411876
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Little_Ditty/pseuds/Little_Ditty
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>AU RSwanQueen. Regina is a high society HBIC, Emma is a street-smart cop.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Checking in at the hostess stand she was directed back to a private room of the restaurant. In a classy place like this it was probably called the maître d', not the hostess. But with how she grew up, Emma was lucky to be walking in to a place like this. Even if she was wearing a uniform.

Straightening the selfsame uniform, Emma quickly surveyed the scene. A sweaty, panicky member of the wait staff stood hovering nervously between the other two occupants of the room. Closer to the door was a man with dark hair. He was sharply dressed and glared at a woman across the room, as he held a reddening cloth to one thigh. The woman he was glaring at was staring back at him; not angry so much as bored, and with a disdain that should be reserved for royalty.

The man's swarthy skin was a distinct contrast to the woman's alabaster skin. A good deal of that pale skin was revealed by the deep, plum of the tight dress which was draped fashionably around her. Both parties had dark hair, but the woman's caught the light and it highlighted deep, jewel tones in the dark strands.

It was the nervous employee that noticed Emma first. "You're here, finally!" Not that Emma was sure why she was here. It looked straight forward, but then again, this was the favorite restaurant of the higher ups like Captains Wolfe, Shepherd, and King. Something that could be handled in-house needed to be assured, so that nothing interfered with the brass' dinner plans.

"You need to arrest that fuckin' bitch! She stabbed me!" The dark man, Italian by his accent, started as soon as he saw Emma. And just as quickly he petered off when she pinned him with a sharp stare. Emma could read people, and the over the top outburst seemed scripted. Even more telling was the fact that the woman hadn't yet defended herself or made another attack, physical or verbal. Instead Emma could feel her eyes on the back of her neck; that feeling wasn't easy to ignore but she did her best.

Her gift of reading people told Emma just how to play this. "I think maybe I should be arresting _you._ I know your type. A hot-shot business-man and playboy? Try to grope your way up the ladder, hmm? That all depends on if _she_ wants to press charges." From the start Emma knew she'd hit the nail on the head; the healthy tan drained from his skin and he fidgeted under her unyielding gaze.

"That won't be necessary, officer." That voice was silk, but there was no mistaking the hard steel of a dagger point just below a mask of civility.

Out of the corner of her eye Emma saw the woman slink across the room with all the grace of a hunting cat, and just as dangerous. "Next time you try something like that, it will be more than a _tiny prick_." Dark eyes darted, making the statement even more loaded. The fierce glee in those dark orbs was intimidating, even to Emma who wasn't the target. "But you won't work in this town again; I'll make sure of it."

As the maître d' escorted the man out, Emma nonchalantly said, "That wasn't very smart, you know; making threats in front of a police officer. That could get you in to trouble."

With the full force of those dark eyes turned on her, Emma felt a surge of pride in not backing down. She almost wanted to, but she wasn't about to lose the game of dominance. "And what are you going to do, arrest me?" The dark gaze flicked to the name tag and back up to meet Emma's. " _Officer Swan_."

The emphasis on her name made the hairs on the back of Emma's neck stand at attention. It was every bit as dangerous as the threats so easily given not five minutes before, but much more intense. "Not tonight," was her only reply before heading towards the door. "Have a nice night, ma'am."

"Regina, Regina Mills." The extreme change from the threats and challenges made Emma turn back once more. There was still the silk but this time it was gentler and cool, with no hint of hidden steel.

Emma just smiled and repeated herself. "Have a nice night, _Regina_."


	2. Chapter 2

They had become unlikely friends. Where Regina would be the gracious hostess for her father's functions, Emma preferred her solitary pursuits. Out of uniform Emma dressed for comfort and function but Regina preferred fashion on her form. The workaholic cop and the MBA whose business hardly needed her.

The one thing they had in common was the combatant side each brought out in the other. Even when they agreed there was debate and one-upmanship. It was always a play for dominance, but whichever woman won one day could quickly be dethroned the next.

The one time Regina never forced the issue of dominance was their phone conversations; and that only because the blonde had a more demanding schedule. But when first an hour, then two slid by without the promised contact, Regina stole back the dominance.

Snatching up her phone Regina, the brunette fiercely jabbed at the keys with one manicured nail. When you made commitments you kept them, why was that so difficult to understand?

" _It's Emma, leave a message and I-"_ Regina hung up, cutting off the voicemail. Regina didn't leave voicemails. But Regina didn't get stood up either, so it looked like she might be crossing two things off of her bucket list tonight.

That was unacceptable. Again the French Tipped nail rapped out a staccato beat on the keys before the phone produced that dull ringing sound. _"You've reached Emma Swan, I can't make it-"_ Another voicemail?

Drumming her fingers on the desktop, Regina weighed her options. But before she came to a conclusion the phone rang.

"You know," she answered the phone with that smooth, dangerously soft voice which was scarier than apoplectic screaming, "When someone says that they will do something, it is customary for it to be done when promised. What, exactly, is different between your definition and mine?"

When a small sniffle came over the line Regina knew her smooth threat had been delivered to the wrong person. "But I – Miss Mills you said – it was only –"

"And your command of the English language isn't instilling confidence," Regina cut in, before hanging up the phone on the now panicking intern.

Another hour later Regina was waiting in front of Emma's building. Waiting to lay in to the blonde for making her wait, for making her worry. Waiting to sooth that worried feeling in the pit of her own stomach.

She had tried to bully her way in to the building. But the landlord, a prickly Bronxite in a Yankees shirt, hadn't caved to Regina's threats.

She had intended to sit on the stoop to wait. But she was wearing a Diane Von Furstenberg, and that was a line that couldn't be crossed.

She had stood outside the building. But it was February and the chill had driven Regina back inside her car.

This was not the way things worked. People did what they were supposed to, when they said they would. People quailed at a fierce look from her. People waited for _her._

Shivering in the wrap dress she wore, Regina stomped up the curb. The moment Regina saw the bundled up blonde her first thought was that she wanted that _horrid_ , red, pleather jacket. The second came out of her mouth in a shriek of condensed breath, "Where have you been?"

If Emma was surprised to see her it didn't show on the blonde's face. "Do you really want to talk about this now?"

"Talk? No, _we_ 're not going to _talk_. I'm going to talk. _You_ are going to listen," Regina fumed.

"Can we at least 'talk' inside? Or were you planning on freezing before you were done lecturing me?" Emma asked as she opened the door to the building.

With a glare Regina stomped past Emma, reveling in the heat as she clacked furiously up the stairs.

"Make yourself at home," Emma muttered sarcastically but was surprised when Regina's voice echoed down the stairwell.

"I will."


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Also, I'm trying to build my own AU canon here so bear with me. Mary is Emma's pseudo-mother but James (yes he will be James, not David or John) did NOT come part and parcel with Mary. There will be Henry, but certainly not when Emma's 18. I think that's it.

Mary Margaret Blanchard had known Emma Swan for more than half the younger woman's life. She'd sat in the front row, beaming proudly for all of Emma's accomplishments. She'd soothed tears with cookies, hugs, and sage advice. She'd listened to the blonde rant and rail about the unfairness of life.

But the only time Mary had seen Emma this anxious had been the first time they met.

Her mother had always said teaching didn't pay well; but teaching at a private school, like St. Francis, was paying better than other places. It was enough to rent what use to be the mother-in-law suite of a house in a nice neighborhood. Her landlady was a nice enough old woman with a young granddaughter named Ruby. With enough left over to keep a little garden planted on the roof.

The garden was nothing fancy; just a few tomato plants and some planters with assorted flowers. But it was enough to raise Mary's spirits; especially on days, like today, when her fourth graders hadn't behaved well.

It was extremely warm for so early in the spring and Mary had taken it in to her head to prune some of the early buds on a few of her plants.

But the rooftop garden wasn't empty when Mary arrived. The other occupant was a girl, one who couldn't be more than thirteen if she's a day. The girl had jumped up from her seat on one of the ledges around the roof and the sight dismayed Mary.

While Mary taught fourth grade, St. Francis School was Pre-School to eighth grade; but this girl looked nothing like the girls that would have been her peers.

Unlike St. Francis girls, the blonde girl before her was not in heels and too tight clothing (the subject of many memos from the principal) but ratty sneakers and baggy, worn out clothing that was peppered with holes.

The look in the girl's eyes was one of a feral animal, ready to run before she could get in trouble. "Oh, hello," Mary said finally, still a bit puzzled. "Are you a friend of Ruby's then?"

The only answer was a sullenly muttered "no." The girl was busy eyeing the fire escape until Mary spoke again. "I'd prefer you didn't. Use the fire escape that is. Very dangerous. The next time you want to come up here just tell the older woman downstairs that Ms. Blanchard said you could come up, she'll think you're one of my students." Mary didn't look away from weeding around a honeysuckle plant.

"Are you a teacher?" Mary looked up to find the girl much closer, watching the weeding and hovering near Mary's shoulder.

Looking back at her work Mary nodded before answering. "I teach fourth grade. At St. Francis, it's just down the street."

Out of the corner of her eye Mary caught the girl make a look of disgust. "The priss school."

The response startled a laugh out of the woman, but she quickly covered that. "That's not very nice."

"Neither are they," the girl countered.

The rest of the afternoon passed in similar style, and so did three more days before Mary learned her visitor's name: Emma.

And it was another week after that before the teacher learned that her young friend was a foster child living in a house across the street. Emma had seen Mary's garden through a window, and had snuck up there for alone time.

In Emma, Mary found a kindred spirit who craved the peace the garden provided. And, Mary would like to think, she was a steadfast and trustable adult.

"You look beautiful, Emma," Mary reassured the blonde woman, brushing the hairs back in to place. Emma had been running her hands through the blonde locks for close to ten minutes, nervy as the little street-rat Mary had met all those years ago.

"You already slayed the dragon, the worst part is over." Both women turned, and Mary couldn't help but smile at her husband. "You asked Regina to marry you, she said yes," James explained with a smile, "Now you just have to do it."

**Author's Note:**

> I have a few chapters of this but my multi-chapter fics don't always have quick updates. I'll post what I have and try to write more as quickly as I can.


End file.
